


What you do to me

by airafleeza



Series: Let the ashes fly [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, Gabriel is trying to do better, Hand Jobs, Jack is trying to do better, M/M, Not everything is fixed and that's okay, Old Men In Love, Post-Recall, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airafleeza/pseuds/airafleeza
Summary: Sooner, rather than later, they'll fight over who showers first, leaving the loser to pray there’s enough warm water left. Jack will probably try to rope Gabriel into making breakfast and promise to do dishes. Gabriel will watch TV until he gets bored and falls asleep on the couch. Today Jack is supposed to move more boxes out of the attic that the former owner left behind, and when he finishes, he’ll find Gabriel and undoubtedly wake him up by saddling up next to him, trying to understand what’s going on in the channel Gabriel fell asleep to.Or,a story about two old men and their morning shenangians.





	What you do to me

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I've been in the OVW fandom for over a year now and it's taken me that long to write a fic I felt comfortable sharing. Idk where it came from, but next thing I knew I was franticly writing on my phone between patients. 
> 
> This fic features a lot of my own personal headcanons and preferences, so I hope others can enjoy them as well! 
> 
> I would like to thank the wonderful [Ari](http://ignisgayentia.tumblr.com/) for all their support, encouragement, inspiration, and beta work!! Also, the talented and enigmatic [Crook](https://twitter.com/strangefingers) for their beta-ing and glorious Google doc comments. <33
> 
> OH BOY here we go!!!!!!!

He's caught in the limbo of sleep and wakefulness, where everything is slower and louder, when Jack asks a soft “you up?” Gabriel shifts. _Yeah_ , he supposes he is now, and lets Jack know by rolling onto his side to face him.

He tries to give back his best unimpressed look because really, _why ask a potentially sleeping person if they're awake or not_? It earns a sharp laugh from the other man.

“Good morning to you, too,” Jack says. The greeting manages to sound fond, despite the roughness brought with sleep. Gabriel grunts in lieu of a response and rolls onto his back--which apparently is an invitation for Jack to move closer and use his chest as a pillow. His warm hand rests on Gabriel’s ribs.

The pressure is faint as Jack’s fingers trace the edges of old scars and uneven skin. Near his sternum is the pucker of the Y-incision marking his chest--a souvenir from his autopsy. Jack knows not to touch it and doesn’t. Gabriel releases a sigh. His partner’s calloused fingers give him goosebumps. _Goosebumps_ , he thinks. It’s strange, all the things he keeps finding out he still has, things his body can still do. It’s a marvel in and of itself. He rests his hand on top of Jack’s, which instantly stills. When Gabriel presses his cheek into the pillow to look back at him, he finds Jack’s milky blue eyes already watching intensely.

“What?”

Jack’s expression becomes less severe, as if startled back into himself. “Nothing.”

It isn’t that Gabriel doesn’t believe him--they have to move past that part of their lives where they second-guessed one another or it’ll keep dragging them back. They were always at their best when they trusted one another fully and without a doubt. The trust between him and Jack now is built on a sort of fragile foundation that neither of them want to risk. Next time, if there is a next time, there might not be anything left to reconcile.

But Gabriel isn’t one for blind faith and free fall. He prefers solid ground and definites. It might be age and resignation that led him to accept this olive branch between them, to try to build something from the ruins, but looking at Jack now, he knows he never stopped thinking about this man, a man he’s loved like nothing else before. Before they felt inevitable--he knew Jack and felt like their course was laid out in front of them as far as he could see, until the end of time. He was right about loving Jack ten years, twenty--over thirty years after first telling Jack so during the Crisis, but wrong about their paths being one. After turning himself in, being with Jack was terrifying like a trust fall.

The way Gabriel saw it, he had two options: take a chance or try to convince himself he didn’t need Jack. Waking up like this next to him made the unknown worth it and the latter impossible.

Still, it isn’t that Gabriel doesn’t trust Jack when he says “nothing”--it’s that Gabriel knows just what the Jack means. Nothing is wrong--in fact, it feels too right. Gabriel next to him could be a trick of the light, just as Jack felt to him some off-mornings when Gabriel is too introspective and without coffee. He squeezes Jack’s hand in reassurance and Jack returns the favor.

They stay like this for awhile, unwilling to break the silent morning. Light inches across their bed as the sunrises. Jack’s hand moves to his face. He hasn’t had a chance to look in the mirror today, doesn’t know how much he looks like his old self or if today he won’t be able to pull himself together. He feels the chill of the room on his gums where his left cheek ought to be. He hopes that’s all, but the way Jack stares is borderline scrutinizing, leading Gabriel to believe this isn’t the case. His self-confidence wanes. If it was anyone else, he couldn’t care less. But this was Jack, who worried and daily asked Gabriel if he’d taken his medication, who knew Gabriel long before his life,turned from science fiction to horror story.

Pushing off the covers, Gabriel jostles the shoulder Jack is resting on in an attempt to get Jack off of him. It takes a moment for Jack to understand, eventually propping himself up on his elbows. There is a question on his face, his eyebrow quirked up in a way that Gabriel finds charming. _Cute_ , like he was some sort of heartsick teenager. He laughs at this, at himself, as he leans over to kiss Jack’s shoulder, pivoting to get out of bed to start his morning routine. Before he gets far, Jack catches him by hooking his heel on the inside of Gabriel’s thigh.

“You should stay in bed,” Jack tells him, voice pitched low. One side of his mouth tilts up as he grins and God, if Jack hasn’t been using the same old tricks for over thirty years: asking Gabriel to come back to bed in what Gabriel could only describe as Jack’s sex voice, and smiling--smiling for Gabriel in a way the cameras could never capture right. The fire damage to his lungs made Jack’s voice raspier, and the scar on his lip interrupted his smile and sharpened it.

It’s these small details that serve as soft reminders that Jack is different--Jack isn’t the shining strike commander he used to be. His hands are dirty like Gabriel’s. He bears scars and mistakes. Maybe he is like Jack--different, but still who he was after all--and it’s that idea that gets him to stay.

Gabriel settles back down on the mattress, stretched out as he lays on his side. He doesn’t miss the way that Jack’s eyes linger over his naked body, gray blotches and all. He isn’t sure what’s worse: the fact Jack’s method of morning seduction is the same or that it keeps working on him.

“Didn’t think you were one to sleep in.”

“Didn’t say anything about sleeping,” Jack quips, calloused hand settling low on Gabriel’s hip and squeezing.

That’s all it takes before two forces collide--Jack kissing Gabriel, or Gabriel kissing Jack first. It doesn’t matter anymore as they tangle up in each other, unable to stop kissing the other back. They gasp into each others’ mouths. Gabriel maneuvers Jack onto his back, pressing him into the mattress and earning a grunt from Jack when Gabriel bites his lip as if to bring him to submission. Whether it works or not, Gabriel doesn’t know--Jack nowadays almost always gives Gabriel anything he wants as if still making up for something.

 _We’re both making up for something_ , Gabriel acknowledges as he ducks his head down, nosing under Jack’s chin until Jack gets the memo and tilts his head back. Gabriel bites him--he knows it’ll bruise and that Jack will berate him for it later but secretly love it. Any physical marks they make on one another never last long anyway. Gabriel bites again, Jack’s pulse thrumming under his lips. If he stops and concentrates long enough, he’s aware of Jack’s soul humming to him, calling to him or his hunger--he isn’t sure. He pauses, resting his forehead against Jack’s sternum and closing his eyes. Jack is alive. Gabriel is, too--for the most part. They’re going to do their damnedest to never hurt each other again. He’s going to love Jack until the stars die out.

“Getting winded, old man?” Jack asks. He’s trying to go for levity, but Gabriel can see the underlying question of “ _are you okay?_ ” And just like before when Jack was asked that very same question, Gabriel gives the same answer and Jack understands. His grip tightens on Gabriel’s hip. He feels softer there, with a little more for Jack to grab. Getting older and retiring will do that to a person, he supposes.

“Keep that up and I’ll get self conscious,” he murmurs against Jack’s chest, flicking his nipple. Jack laughs sharply, running the back of his knuckles down Gabriel’s stomach. Still hard with muscle, but with more give than he can ever remember having. Jack’s body is the same-- softer but with hard lines cutting across it. The scars and stretch marks are souvenirs from the violence they took into their lives and from shooting up several inches in a matter of months. Somehow, it all suits Jack, and judging by the gentle way he’s praising Gabriel’s body, Gabriel must not look too bad himself.

“You look good,” Jack says.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a beat until Jack pointedly looks down his own torso and then up at Gabriel. “Think you were in the middle of something there.”

Feigning casual, Gabriel absentmindedly circles Jack’s nipple as he pretends to be deep in thought, the sensation giving Jack goosebumps. “Can’t seem to remember. You know, being an old man and all.”

“Saying I should do all the work and give you a break?” Jack props himself up on his elbows, quirking an eyebrow. Gabriel straddles Jack, shrugs, and then grins--his _fucking-shit-eating-grin,_ as Jack sometimes calls it. Jack sighs dramatically. “If I knew retirement would make you this lazy, I wouldn’t’ve suggested it.”

Shaking his head, he presses a hand to Gabriel’s chest, encouraging him off and over to the other side of the bed. It isn’t as warm as it was, the morning air having seeped in and brought the chill. It doesn’t matter for long. As soon as Jack maneuvers Gabriel’s legs around him, he couldn’t care less. Jack is on top of him, kissing him, reaching between their bodies but only grabbing his own cock. He knows Jack is jerking himself off--impossible not to when they’re pressed together as they are. The back of his rough knuckles brush against Gabriel’s neglected dick with every stroke. Gabriel bites Jack’s bottom lip in retaliation.

“Having a good time?” he asks, Jack gasping so hard he breaks the kiss. It’s a sight--the curve of Jack’s neck as it bows down, eyes closed and cheeks pink. He’s panting openly. There’s something naive in the way he exposes himself to Gabriel like this--like Gabriel isn’t here at all, like he’s alone. Despite the fact this isn’t the first time he’s watched Jack take his own pleasure, it’s an experience Gabriel can’t tear his eyes from every single time. Jack is sharing this with him and it feels like vulnerability. In the years leading up to their separation, sex without vulnerability had become the usual if they even fucked at all. He hadn’t had a name for what they’d lost until the first time they’d hooked up in years, and understanding that it was being offered back to him was a heavy realization.

“Always,” Jack tells him breathily, taking both their cocks in hand as he rolls his hips down onto Gabriel’s, encouraging him to follow the rhythm being set.

Gabriel closes his eyes, lips parting as he presses his head blissfully back into the pillow. The slide is easy, Jack’s hands wet. When he managed to sneakily go into the drawer to uncap their lube, Gabriel doesn’t know. Doesn’t care either when it feels this good. The bed is warm. Sunlight is streaming onto their bodies. It’s good--this is a good morning he’d like to remember and take with him. He’ll never get over it--losing his humanity, his own flesh-- but then he has this and suddenly he wonders if any of that really matters after all. To think he was so close to denying himself this chance and all their future chances every time he aimed for that gaudy gas station jacket. He’s good at being angry and fueling his own fire, but it was always hard to be mad at Jack.

After Zurich, he thought what he felt was hate, not love. Anger, but not hurt. After Zurich, he didn’t know what to do with himself and for that he almost--

“Gabe--Gabriel.” Jack is breathing hard. Jack is here and Gabriel wants to kiss him so he does. Another miracle, another chance. Gabriel holds Jack’s face between his hands and surges up into the kiss desperately. The pace Jack originally set is gone and turned into something frantic, chasing his own end while wanting Gabriel to come with him. When his eyes open, whatever Gabriel’s face is giving away causes Jack to slow down. He plants a chaste kiss on Gabriel’s lips.

“You here with me?” he rasps. Gabriel nods. The light overcoming the room is taking away all of Jack’s edges--his shape and features turned ethereal, like Jack could slip through his fingers at any moment.

 _Don’t go_ , Gabriel wants to say, but he feels like he’s being choked and can’t get the words out. His fear turns to horror when he tries to touch Jack--only for his fingers to go through him.

Finally Jack’s name tears from his throat, the panic hardly contained. Jack is far away when Gabriel hears him ask what’s going on, and suddenly there is only the quiet until a high pitched ring breaks the spell. Gabriel is back in the room. Jack is on him, hands on his shoulders and saying his name loud and clearly. It is morning and Jack is a solid presence. Gabriel, upon quick inspection of his own hands, is not. The blackened tips of his fingers are drifting off into smoke. He puts his mostly-solid palm on Jack’s neck in an attempt of reassurance.

“Hey,” Gabriel tries, sounding a little slurred to his own ears. Even though he’s just woken up, Gabriel is tired. “Hey Jack, hey.” He means to massage the tight muscle to the side of Jack’s neck when he realizes the task is nearly impossible without fingers.

Jack is frowning. “You scared me, Gabe.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. _You scare me, too_ , he realizes. _Jack, you scare me so bad._

 _I love you_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. Neither have dared to bring it up, even after all these months. They’ve almost said it several times--old habits and all that. But they caught themselves each and every time. It was no secret either--the other knew. Hell, anyone in the world would know if they saw the two in the same room, the way they navigated a space together, but this had become their silent agreement: _don’t say it, don’t break what little peace we’ve made for ourselves_.

Minutes pass until his hands are able to solidify and properly touch Jack. It won’t comfort him--Jack’s too far past worried now and is probably thinking about how to convince Gabriel to call Angela. He doesn’t look forward to telling Jack he knows what the problem might be. He’s about due for a feeding any day now.

Jack runs his hands through his own hair. By the time Gabriel takes his hand in an effort to stop him, it’s too late: tufts of white hair are sticking up at ridiculous angles. “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling great.”

“Keep that up and you’ll be bald by next week,” Gabriel teases. He brings Jack’s hand to his lips, cradling it before gently kissing his knuckles. Jack looks like he wants to jerk his arm away, jaw tense, but instead slides off of Gabriel and sits at the head of the bed near Gabriel’s supine body.

“Wonder whose fault would that be, _Gabe._ ”

“Hey, you can’t blame it all on me. Maybe… ten percent.”

Jack gives him a dubious look. “Are you kidding? After Prague, try eighty.”

Gabriel cringes at the memory. Prague had been a few well aimed bullets to his neck, but Gabriel recovered. McCree and the others were able to pull him out of the firefight just fine. The scene was worse than anything--blood pooled on the makeshift workspace they’d given O’Deorain on the flight back to base. It was all over McCree’s face, hands and clothes--even the typically pristine doctor wasn’t able to avoid arterial spray during the treatment. By the time they landed, the Strike Commander had made a point to show up with an emergency medical team and put on a good show of appearing to have his shit under control, despite how ashen his face had become upon seeing Gabriel.

Only after he was in the med bay and no longer in danger did he realize how bad the situation looked. With his enhanced healing, he still bled like a son of a bitch. O’Deorain had gotten it to stop by the time they’d been in the air for a few minutes, but it must have been quite a shock for Jack, who was greeted with the entire Blackwatch team covered in blood--granted the slight blood on Genji wasn’t any of theirs. Come to find out, comm lines had gone down after take off, leaving Jack with no ETA or any updates on Gabriel’s condition… if they would be arriving back at all. In the med bay, Gabriel remembered flashes of Jack’s twisted, miserable expression when he was first wheeled out of the jet--as much as Jack tried to save face. Blood had been spilled on both their ends before, but Prague was different for Jack. This time, Jack explained to him, he wasn’t at Gabriel’s six and it just about killed him.

“Just about killed me too, man,” he had replied, to which Jack told him he would have ended Gabriel right there himself if Angela wasn’t just outside the door.

A phantom pain causes him to rub at his neck. He sighs. “Morrison, you ran an entire peacekeeping organization for over twenty years. Prague doesn’t have shit over that.”

Jack looks a little cross, enough that Gabriel wonders if now was the time to downplay the situation as he usually did or should have tried his hand at sincerity. He’s about to when Jack asks what happened. Gabriel rubs the back of his neck again, this time sheepish.

“Not... sure what to call it. Wasn’t like, an attack or…” he grunts and looks off to the side towards the bookcase, frustrated in his explanation. “Just in my head a lot this morning, Jack.”

There’s an understanding “hm” from Jack. He maneuvers himself so he’s laying back down next to Gabriel, legs crossed and hands tucked behind his head at his stares at the foot of the bed. “Guess we both are.”

Sometimes, Gabriel is shocked they've made it this far. A one-bedroom house of their own with an asking price that ten years ago would have left Gabriel in an outrage. _This isn’t LA,_ he can hear himself say. _This is bumfuck Indiana. There aren’t even In-n-Outs here, for Christ’s sakes. Can you believe that?_ To which Jack would shrug, unbothered, and carry about the rest of his day--stopping only occasionally to hear Gabriel complain again with a sort of “yes, dear” mentality.

They could have had this sooner, if Jack had listened and Gabriel been more forgiving. They could have had more time. Their second-hand bed frame creaks when Gabriel rolls to face Jack, the bookshelf having nothing on the man next to him. They've wasted enough time. Sooner, rather than later, they'll fight over who showers first, leaving the loser to pray there’s enough warm water left. Jack will probably try to rope Gabriel into making breakfast and promise to do dishes. Gabriel will watch TV until he gets bored and falls asleep on the couch. Today Jack is supposed to move more boxes out of the attic that the former owner left behind, and when he finishes, he’ll find Gabriel and undoubtedly wake him up by saddling up next him, trying to understand what’s going on in the channel Gabriel fell asleep to. Quiet afternoons become slow and sweet when they’ve got nothing to do and choose to touch each other instead. Kissing on the couch until it becomes too much turns into Gabriel moaning about how they need a bigger couch, that they ought to go furniture shopping.

Jack will berate him. He’ll tell Gabriel to stop complaining and Gabriel will respond that it isn’t a complaint, just an observation. Jack will shake his head and Gabriel will be, as he often finds himself, overcome with a fondness so acute that there’s a sharp pang in his heart.

The foot of the bed must cease to be captivating because now Jack is looking back at him. He pushes at Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Shower and I’ll start breakfast,” Jack offers and Gabriel feels his chest seize. He thinks he’s going to laugh, but he’s also sincerely touched and wonders if the overwhelming feeling is just mania. It’s a goddamn miracle they’ve gotten this far with their silent moods and what they do to each other--Jack stuns him and leaves him at a loss for words. Jack is stubborn and makes Gabriel pray to the gods for patience, knowing Jack does the same.

Gabriel huddles close to the warm body next to him. “Jack.”

The answering “hm?” is brief as Jack twists around to find his glasses in the nightstand drawer.

“Jack.” Gabriel finds himself smiling and nervous. “I gotta tell you something.”

**Author's Note:**

> There were several moments of inspiration that helped push me to continue this fic, [including this song from which the title was taken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bv7IcjmxjGo). Also, the delicous lore of a canon gay Jack is nothing to sneeze at. <3
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoyed this, and I hope to continue writing these old geezers. For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old men quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).


End file.
